


sing little bird

by sweetgoodgraciousangel



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, M/M, not really a Ship Fic but there's like extremely vague mentions of old feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 10:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13456107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetgoodgraciousangel/pseuds/sweetgoodgraciousangel
Summary: Augustine used to sing as much as he could.





	sing little bird

Augustine used to sing as often as he could.

 

Oswald would hear him humming the times that silence passed between them, and other times, he would quietly sing to himself ditties of Autumere’s tradition. That, or he’d be humming some tune that his mother sang around the house and while she was working to keep herself busy for the day until she could call it quits. He’d always been able to sing since the first day Oswald met him. His voice was mellifluous, well defined after years of practice, and never held any hesitations or tremors on a note. He liked to sing to himself, more so, but Oswald listened and held on to everything he could hear. 

 

Oswald never mentioned it, save for one time that they’d been on their way back to the town after a small trip away, on such a small ridiculous adventure. They did that often.

 

“So,” Oswald asked. “You sing?”

 

“Life’s a bit more fun with music, isn’t it?”

 

Oswald chuckled. He wasn’t wrong. There’s always a happier light in his eyes when he sang, and Oswald never wanted to see it end.

 

Until they came face to face again, those two years later, and all Oswald could hear inside of that bastard’s temple was his singing. He came inside on a whim, desperate to see him again, but was met with a reality check on who he was reaching out to.

 

Augustine had no audience, but the singing was flat. Broken. Disorganized. Like he couldn’t tell high from low, like his voice couldn’t handle the strain. It was obvious from the way his expression changed with each word that it  _ pained  _ him to sing, treated it like it was no good for his mouth anymore. But he still did. There’s something that lurked within his face, even with his eyes closed, that told he was searching for the joy that it once brought him. 

 

It wasn’t there, and the song ended before it was even finished with a note that sounded like a desperate shriek.

 

Augustine looked like he was panting for breath, fingers curling into the wood of the podium in front of him before he lifted his hands and slammed them back down in anger. Oswald didn’t have to be any closer to see the frustrated tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, the way his mouth moved with words he couldn’t hear but surely they spoke something of sadness. Oswald didn’t dare reach out. Couldn’t reach out with the space between them. Augustine was on top of the stairs, and Oswald had no courage yet to climb them.

 

Augustine snapped his eyes up. They were red and puffy when they made contact with his own. He must have known Oswald was in here for a while.

 

“Get  _ out _ .”

 

Oswald didn’t dare move.

 

“Get out! You’re not welcome here! I don’t  _ need you _ !”

 

“You need your happiness though.”

 

He wouldn’t have been singing if he wasn’t trying to spare that part of him, if he hadn’t been trying to put himself back into a position where he could smile. There’s a light inside of him that wouldn’t die, no matter how hard he shut it out, so he tended to it. Added fuel. Did anything to keep it lit and alive. 

 

“I’ll throw you out of here with my own two hands! You disgrace this place and everything it stands for!”

 

He kicked the podium over, and Oswald watched as it cluttered down the long set of steps to the ground, where it cracked the wood with a loud noise. It came nowhere close to where he was standing and something told him Augustine hadn’t been trying to hit him, but intimidate him. 

 

He couldn’t be more thankful that the front doors to this place were locked and they were alone inside (he managed to get inside before they were sealed). If anyone - especially his beloved believers - saw who their savior really was, they would be driven away with fear. Right now, Oswald could see through him truly. Just a young boy who was scared and hiding from the future, trying to deny that he’s done any wrong.

 

Oswald almost pitied him.

 

“Hating me isn’t going to do you any good.”

 

Oswald tried it for himself, tried hating Augustine for those two years he was away, but it  _ never  _ made him feel good. The negativity always weighed him down and he woke up exhausted in the morning or in the dead of night feeling no more refreshed than he had been. The day he let go was the day he began to feel just a little more secure, a little more free. Augustine, however, would never learn that.

 

“Don’t tell me how to feel! You ran away from me because you were a coward, so  _ don’t  _ come barging into this sacred place -  _ MY SACRED PLACE _ \- and tell me how I feel! What would you know about it? You never stuck around to find out because you didn’t  _ want  _ to know!”

 

“You were angry and took it out on me.”

 

“Shut UP!”

 

Augustine covered his ears, as if Oswald’s voice was the ugliest thing he’d ever heard. Oswald was on thin ice, but there was the matter of fact that they’d been friends for years, so he knew that even if Augustine came at him with his hands raised, he’d back down immediately when Oswald stepped up to the challenge. It was really all Augustine had left; intimidation tactics, manipulation, shouting, anger - everything that would hopefully push anyone away that got too close for comfort.

 

He looked so broken, too far gone to his own mind.

 

Oswald took a step forward, and Augustine’s eyes widened. The notion was just such a threat to him, even with nowhere to run. He stumbled back until his body met the large glass wall behind him. He was trembling, breaths uneven, scared, and too much of a milksop to make a run for it. Oswald would never understand. He’d never harm Augustine, no matter how bad it got between the two of them. 

 

He just wanted his friend back, so ascending the stairs and toward him was just the beginning.

 

“ _ Don’t _ \-  _ I’ll  _ \- get  _ away  _ \- !”

 

When he reached him, Oswald watched as he looked both ways, looked for somewhere he could slip away to, but found he had no time before Oswald grabbed his shoulders, which were unsteady and trembling. His body was wracked with tremors. 

 

He felt so different now, even though he was the same person whose hair he used to ruffle, arms he used to embrace, and hands he held through tougher times. If he closed his eyes, he could remember a happier time where the two of them weren’t in a bullshit temple, where they didn’t have reasons to despise one another and keep distance. He hated this. No matter how hard Augustine tried to wriggle away from him, scream in his face, tell him he didn’t belong here…

 

He didn’t want to run away. For as much of a coward as Augustine liked to call him, he sure was desperate to do the same now. Hypocrisy was something he was always good at. 

 

Augustine’s fingers dug into the front of Oswald’s coat, gripping so tight it threatened to tear the fabric.

 

“Do you have  _ any  _ idea what this feels like? To know you’re some bastard who built his life and honor through the misery of others?” 

 

His voice cracked. 

 

“Don’t you think that I hate myself enough without you doing this?”

 

Oswald said nothing. There was nothing he could say that would make everything that’s happened so far okay, only because it wasn’t. They both knew what was done was done and nothing was changing.

 

Quietly, they both shed tears in the now noiseless temple.

 

Oswald almost asked him to kill the silence with a song.

**Author's Note:**

> sipping the angst juice to keep me alive another day
> 
> also this a03 is cluttered with auguswald stuff wtf i need other shit on here


End file.
